You speak to me as other.VIDEO

What is this bottled nostalgia?

The old and dusty road spread ahead, a black tape that vanished that cut the monotonous landscape of the corn fields. The sun hung up, throwing a hard and inflexible light that made every shadow tremble. An old truck, its engine that gasped as an asthmatic dragon, rose through the asphalt, leaving a trace of exhaust gases that seemed to dance and mix with dust on a silent ballet.

Inside, a young man named Liothan narrowed his eyes on the horizon, his hand turning the dial of his car's radio. Only Static replied, a relentless whistle that reflected the white noise of his thoughts. His eyes fluttered to the gas meter, the needle that quoted just above the "E" knew that he would have to stop soon.

As if it were in Cue, a lonely service station appeared, a lonely sentry in the Gold and Green Sea. The faded sign on the bombs said "Scentscape", a name that brought a slight smile to his lips. I had heard of such places before, but I had never seen one for herself. They were like myths on the road, promising a capricious escape from the mundane.

With a sigh of relief, Liothan got into the station. The suppliers stopped for a moment, silent witnesses of their arrival. He went to heat, the plants of his shoes attached to the sticky asphalt. The air was full of gasoline aroma, a smell that normally caused its nose to wrinkle, but today it seemed like a sweet symphony compared to the lifeless vacuum of the road.

Upon entering the station, it was received by the bell attached to the door. The interior was a time capsule of the 80s, with shelves lined with dusty sweets and a wall of fries that had probably been there since the Berlin wall fell. An old man looked up from behind the counter, his eyes shone curious.

"The first time here, right?" He said, his serious voice as the path he had just traveling.

Liothan nodded, nodding in the colored kaleidoscope that were the perfume and colony bottles. "What is this 'bottled nostalgia'?" He asked, pointing a peculiar bottle.

The old man's smile grew, revealing a set of teeth stained by a lifetime of coffee. "Ah, that is our specialty. Strike a little of that, and it will take you back to a moment you miss. How to enter a photograph, if you want."

His interest aroused, Liothan collected a bottle, reading the label. He promised a smell of summers of our childhood, of freedom and joy, captured in a small glass bottle. The price was expensive, but it was attracted to the idea of ​​a fleeting escape of the present.

For a moment, it was transported to a world of simplicity, the aroma of freshly cut grass, the heat of the sun in its skin. It was a memory that had not realized that it was lost so deeply. But as fast as it had arrived, the fragrance vanished, leaving it with an empty bottle and a sadly heavy heart.

The old man laughed, looking at his reaction. "It's something powerful, right?"

Liothan nodded, a melancholic expression on his face. He took the bottle and filled his gas tank, his mind accelerating with the idea of ​​what other emotions could find bottled in this peculiar place.

While paying, the man slipped another bottle towards her. "At home," he said, his eyes are kind. "It's something for the road. It's called 'Invisible Hope'. In case you need it."

Without a word, he took it, sliding it in his pocket. He felt great against his skin, a silent promise of better days ahead.

In a quiet city where the air was always full of aroma of flourishing lilies, a young man named Alejandro lived. He was a peculiar character, often found lost in his own thoughts, his eyes acted with a sense of unmistakable astonishment. Alejandro was a painter, known for his abstract pieces who captured the essence of his dreams and nightmares, and the way the light danced on the canvas was fascinating. His study was a messy sanctuary of medium finished canvases, each one window to a world that no one could see.

A suffocating afternoon, Alejandro stumbled upon a narrow and unpretentious road that makes its way through the dense foliage on the edge of the city. It was as if the road had been waiting for it, a silent invitation whispered by the leaves. Curiosity woke up, the cracked pavement was removed and on the cold and humid land, their canvas shoes sink slightly with each step. The air became heavier as the sounds of the city faded, replaced by a rhythmic choir of invisible creatures that seemed to click with the vitality of the surrounding flora.

The road became narrower, the most exotic plants. Alejandro's heart accelerated with the emotion of the discovery as he walked more deeply in the foliage. The vibrant colors of the plants began to mix in a way that turned his head, and felt an overwhelming need to paint them. But at the time he reached his brushes, the colors would change and withdraw, leaving him with just a memory of his beauty. It was as if the road itself was playing with him, an artistic temptation song of a siren who became stronger with every step he took. As Alejandro ventured even more, the road became more steep, and the trees became higher, throwing long and strange shadows that danced with the light that faded. The aroma of the lilies passed, replaced by an intoxicating aroma that made it feel estimated and slightly nausea. He ran into a clear, where a peculiar tree stood up, his branches twisted in impossible shapes that seemed to call him closer. The cortex was a mottled mixture of colors that reminded him of his favorite palette, and the leaves whispered secrets that only he could hear. He extended to touch him, the roughness of the cortex scraping against his fingers, and a sudden avalanche of energy arose through his body, leaving him trembling with a new desire for the colors that eluded him.

The way ahead became more dangerous, the air full of anticipation. Alejandro breathed deep, preparing for what he advanced. I knew that the charm of the road was powerful, but little I knew he was about to embark on a trip that would challenge his single understanding of reality and desire. The hypnotic landscape of the user road was before him, a prison of sensory overload that would soon catch him within his reach.

While Alejandro continued ascending, the ground under his feet became spongy and unpredictable, as if the earth itself was alive and responded to his presence. He took cautious steps, his eyes threw themselves from side to side, trying to capture the always changing patterns of light and color that touched the leaves. The whispers became stronger, urging him to paint faster, to keep up with the fleeting beauty that surrounded him. His heart was beating in his chest, a mixture of emotion and fear. He had never felt so alive, but so completely out of control. The road became even more steep, and Alejandro was panting, his legs burning with the effort to climb. But the promise of what awaited him was too big to return now. The colors became more intense, the most intoxicating odors and the most insistent whispers. His mind swimmed with the infinite possibilities of what he could create if he could continue advancing. It was as if the road itself was feeding its obsession, increasingly attractive with each step it took.

Finally, the road reached its peak, and Alejandro entered a kingdom that challenged the description. It was a place where the laws of nature were inclined to the will of their imagination, where the very tissue of reality was painted in blows of pure emotion. The clear tree approached him, his branches now extend as pure tentacles, each by pressing with his own life. I knew that to touch it it would be to embrace madness, give in to the user that had brought it here. But the desire was too strong. He extended his hand with trembling hands, and when his fingers grazed the first color thread, the world around him exploded in a symphony of light, sound and aroma that dragged him like a wave.

At that time, Alejandro realized that the road had been a test, an entrance door to a kingdom where his artistic obsession could destroy or raise it to new heights. The choice was yours, but the price was steep. With a determination that was terrifying and stimulating, he seized the sapphire color and allowed himself to be dragged to the heart of the tree. The whispers grew to a crescendo, and the world off the road vanished, leaving only the user hug of the colors they had called him for so long. His trip had just begun, and there was no going back.

Liothan's path as a surreal metaphor for user.

Liothan walked through the dusty terrain, his boots cried rhythmically against the gravel under him. He had been walking hours, his eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of civilization. The sun attacked him, throwing a relentless shine that painted the world in marked contrasts of light and shadow. The only constant partner on his trip was to always rumble from a distant road, a line of life that seemed to extend forever without approaching. His thoughts were scattered, such as the containers that danced through the road, but a question remained housed in his mind: "Why?"

His trip had begun as a search for comfort, a retirement of a life that had become too loud, too chaotic. The endless extension of the Liothan path had called him with his promise of silence and loneliness. However, the more he ventured along his way, the more he realized that the tranquility he was looking for was a mere illusion. The whispers of doubt and repentance became stronger with each step, resonating through the sterile landscape as a choir of lost souls. The way itself was a volatile creature, its asphalt surface cracked and changed as if it were alive, a testimony of agitation within its own mind.

The sky was an endless blue canvas, occasionally perforated by the marked white lines of unattainable aircraft. The occasional buzz of a distant engine was the only reminder that it was not really alone in this desolate extension. However, while walking, he began to notice something peculiar. The shadows emitted by poor vegetation and irregular rocks became longer and more distorted, stretching like the arms of the invisible giants that reached it. It was as if the land on which he walked was trying to swallow everything, to take him to a realm of darkness that reflected the tumultuous thoughts that entered and and left his head.

His breath worn and his legs felt as lead. Despite the oppressive heat, a chill ran through its spine as it saw something in its peripheral vision. A figure, high and grim, kept the rhythm of it, coinciding with its steps as if it were part of its own reflection. He remained right beyond the edge of his vision, a silent sentinel who refused to leave his side. The line between reality and illusion became thinner with every moment that happened, and could no longer say if his mind was playing tricks or if there was something sinister that stalked beyond his reach as an intruder.

The figure changed with each step it took as if it were made of shadows lives. It had no face, only the suggestion of characteristics that danced on the verge of recognition. This was not just a mere hallucination; It was something else, a manifestation of his deepest fears and his darker secrets. It was the incarnation of his user, which he hoped to overcome in this endless path. The creature was volatile, whispering sweets in its ear, tempting it to give up, to let it consume it.

Liothan's heart accelerated while trying to overcome the shadow, his boots now hit the pavement in a frantic rhythm. The whispers became stronger, more insistent, until the sound of the road and the wind were drowning. The presence of the creature was palpable, a cold hug that seemed to leak in its own bones. I knew I had to face it, to face darkness within itself if you ever wanted to be free. Invoking a force that he did not know he had, Liothan turned to face his persecutor. The shadow was still, looking at her with a silent intensity that seemed to suck the air inside her lungs. He could feel his power within his alveoli, a seductive force that promised to relieve the pain of his body. But he also knew that yielding would mean to get lost completely.

Breathing deeply, he approached the shadow, his eyes looked in a vacuum any sign of their own reflection. "What do you want?" She demanded, her voice trembling with fear and determination. The creature inclined his head, the smallest indication of a smile that touches his face without characteristics.

"I only know you," he whispered back, his voice is a chilling echo. "I just want to meet you."

The confrontation was imminent. The shadow creature was not any adversary. It was part of it, a fragment of her soul that had been deeply buried. This was the moment when he had to decide whether to hug the darkness or the struggle for light. His hand reached his pocket, feeling the cold metal of a small flask that he had taken with him since the beginning of his trip. It was a symbol of his struggle, a crutch in which he had trusted for comfort. With a fierce resolution, he took it out and threw it into the desert, observing while shattered against a rock, the content spilled in the sand as tears of repentance.

The shadow shuddered, and for a brief moment, Liothan felt a ray of hope. But the creature was relentless, its tendrils approached it, wrapping their ankles as the vines of a malevolent plant. She stumbled, her knees scraping against the relentless asphalt, but refused to fall. This was her battle, and she would not let the shadow win. With a roar that seemed to start from his soul, he freed himself from the shadow grip, feeling a sudden wave of power. The creature retreated, and for a moment, he saw a flash of something similar to fear in his eyes. It was a brief victory, but it was enough to reinforce its